


Married?

by SammyLuka



Series: The Strange and Overtly Romantic Tales of Johnlock and Mystrade [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Greg and Mycroft are married, I think it's crack, Is this crack?, John is a bi icon, John is out of the loop (no surprise there), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13741335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammyLuka/pseuds/SammyLuka
Summary: "'It’s rather obvious,' Sherlock stated, fixing John with a look that would’ve been absolutely scathing, had it not been directed at John.'Why don’t you spell it out for me then?' John snapped.'They’re married,' Sherlock stated simply. John’s eyes widened."(Alternatively, in which John is informed of a very special connection between one DI and the British Government himself).





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s rather obvious,” Sherlock stated, fixing John with a look that would’ve been absolutely scathing, had it not been directed at John.

“Why don’t you spell it out for me then?” John snapped. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood from the couch, his dressing gown sliding down on one shoulder to reveal the deep valley of a single collarbone and the pale, tantalizing expanse that was the column of Sherlock’s neck. 

“They’re married,” he stated simply. John’s eyes widened.

“Married. That has to be one of your terribly delivered jokes.” John’s eyes stayed resolutely on Sherlock’s, a notion that Sherlock found rather dull. The detective turned and walked to the kitchen, fiddling with a mug that was more chipped than not before settling on making tea.

“They’re not married, of course, even though my brother could certainly make that happen. It’s a civil partnership,” Sherlock explained. He turned back to John, the mug still in his hand. “Tea?”

John sat, stunned, for a moment before he replied by nodding his head. Sherlock returned to busying himself with the job of making tea, allowing John to think for a moment. “How long?” he asked quietly.

“Have they been married? A little less than a year. How long they’ve been together, well, that depends on which one of them you’re asking.”

“How do you mean?”

“The general consensus is that they’ve been seeing each other for three years, but that’s not exactly true. A few weeks after Lestrade’s divorce was finalized, Mycroft made some pitiful excuse to kidnap Lestrade and they ended up sleeping together. They decided to just end it at that, but Lestrade couldn’t let go so he sought my brother out in the weeks afterward. It wasn’t terribly hard, of course, as Mycroft was equally enamored. Things went on predictably from there.” Sherlock concluded his story by bringing John’s cup of tea over to him and dropping down in his own armchair.

“Greg and Mycroft… That’s an odd pair. Didn’t even know Greg fancied blokes,” John commented absently.

“When one is in denial about oneself, it’s rather hard to see what one is denying in others,” Sherlock muttered into his cup. John rolled his eyes.

“I’m not in denial.”

 _Oh?_ Sherlock sat up.

“About being into blokes,” John needlessly clarified. “Had a much-needed thinking session and I’m over telling myself that I’m something I’m not.” John took a sip from his mug of tea, watching Sherlock over the rim of it.

“Well, you know that I don’t find women particularly… aesthetically soothing.” Sherlock winced at his own choice of words.

“You don’t find anyone ‘aesthetically soothing’,” John teased with a slight chuckle. 

“True,” Sherlock conceded, smiling a small smile. “Except for you.”

John swallowed. “You told me on that first day, didn’t you? At Angelo’s,” he inquired quietly.

“Yes.” 

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Sherlock started, standing up from his chair and disregarding his tea on the floor. “I’ll be in my bedroom. The door will be open.” He stalked out of the room after that, leaving John with the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a mind full of hopeful thoughts.

Instead of continuing to mull over what had just happened, John pulled his mobile from his pocket. He found Greg’s contact and smiled before he began typing a message.

7:23 PM: _You’re a terrible friend. JW_

7:25 PM: _Has Sherlock managed to figure out your password again? GL_

7:26 PM: _A terrible, deceitful, sneaky git. JW_

7:27 PM: _I’m going to show up at your doorstep if you don’t explain sometime within the next 2 minutes. GL_

7:28 PM: _Mycroft. JW_

7:31 PM: _The Consulting Child finally spilled?? GL_

7:33 PM: _How could you not tell me?! How could drunk you not tell me?! JW_

7:36 PM: _“Oh yeah by the way mate I’m married to Sherlock’s mysterious and sometimes downright bloody scary older brother who also happens to be the most powerful man in England” GL_

7:37 PM: _How do you have the time to write these long messages? Aren’t you supposed to be doing your job or something? JW_  
7:38 PM: _This is why Sherlock says he has to do your job for you, isn’t it? JW_

7:40 PM: _He does not have to “do my job for me” but he is helpful. Sometimes. Don’t tell him I said that or his ego will grow too big for your flat. And to answer your question I’m currently sitting at my desk waiting for Mycroft to bring me a takeaway and possibly a blowjob if I’m good. GL_  
7:41 PM: _Could you tell that I made that message especially long out of spite? GL_

7:43 PM: _I’m blocking your number and you’re officially banned from my flat. Mycroft too. JW_

7:44: _:) GL_

John put his phone down and rubbed a hand over his face. He slouched back into his chair for a few moments, simply massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Bugger it,” John muttered to himself as he stood up and began the walk to Sherlock’s room.


	2. Chapter 2

As John hesitantly pulled away from Sherlock, he could feel his stomach dropping at the look on the detective’s face. He’d been sure that Sherlock had reciprocated the things he felt - had somewhat felt the same. But Sherlock worked differently, and it was very possible that John had read him wrong. From the wide-eyed look on Sherlock’s face, John was sure that he’d gone and fucked it up.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry,” he muttered rather pathetically. He began to pull away but fell still when Sherlock’s long fingers locked around his wrist.

“Stay,” the detective uttered simply, his eyes dark and pleading. John complied.

“It’s not that you did anything wrong,” Sherlock began after a moment. “You actually did something very right.”

When Sherlock offered no further explanation, John pried Sherlock’s fingers from his wrist and intertwined them with his own. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Sherlock’s hand and waited until he realized that Sherlock wasn’t going to offer any further any explanation.

“And what was this very right thing I did?” John asked quietly. He turned Sherlock’s hand over and continued the ministrations of his thumb on Sherlock’s wrist.

“You made it stop. You made everything stop.” John’s finger slowed down and he forced his eyes to meet Sherlock’s, his brows furrowing.

“You mean..?”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiled. “For once, there was truly only one thing on my mind, and that was you. Everything- _Everything_ \- all at once, was just _you_.”

John stared up at Sherlock with wide eyes of his own, his thumb placed directly over Sherlock’s pulse point. He could feel the genius’s heart rate speeding up.

“Do it again,” Sherlock pleaded. “Please.”

One of John’s hands slid into Sherlock’s hair, the other cupping Sherlock’s jaw and pulling him down so that their lips pressed together. Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat, his lips parting, and John slid his tongue past the detective’s lips, tugging shamelessly at Sherlock’s hair. 

Sherlock kissed back after a moment, placing his hands gently on John’s shoulders, one sliding up to grip lightly at the back of John’s neck. John’s hand trailed from Sherlock’s jaw to his hip, nudging Sherlock until he settled between John’s legs. John pulled at Sherlock’s bottom lip with his teeth and smirked at the needy whine it pulled from the detective. He bit down lightly, basking in the soft sounds Sherlock emitted, before he pulled away and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s.

“Is now a bad time to mention that Mycroft will most likely be stopping by sometime in the next hour?” Sherlock asked, smirking. John froze, a horrified expression crossing his face.

“Please tell me that’s an actual joke this time.”

“I don’t think I’m in a position to be making jokes about my brother right now.”  
John shuddered and stood up from the bed, rubbing his face. “Nothing short of death could stop you from making jokes about your brother. I’m sure you didn’t even stop when you ‘died’.” He closed his eyes and massaged one of his temples. “Christ, I’m not going to be able to look at him. Remind me to kill Greg next time I see him.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked, standing from the bed. 

“Hmm?” John was pacing the room, eyes closed. 

“My brother. And sex.”

“Sherlock!” John exclaimed, turning to look directly at the detective. “That’s enough. I’m going downstairs and I’m going to bleach my mind and then we are both going to behave when your brother arrives.”

John walked out of the room and down the stairs, muttering to himself about being surrounded by seven-year-olds, then almost pissed himself when he walked into the sitting room and saw Mycroft standing in the middle of the floor. He was leaning against his umbrella with a Mycroft-typical judgemental eyebrow raised.

“Is this a bad time, Doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked, turning to follow John as he walked into the kitchen.

“John.”

“Mm?” Mycroft looked up from the chipped mug he had picked up to inspect.

“I think we’ve reached the point where you can call me John.” John reached forward and took the mug from Mycroft’s hand, surprising the other man just a bit. “Tea?”

“That would be pleasant, thank you.” Mycroft made his way back to the sitting room and sat down on the sofa - not John’s chair. John busied himself with making tea, racking his brain for an explanation as to _what the fuck_ had happened so far that day.

“So. You and Greg, huh?” John attempted as he walked over with the two steaming mugs in hand. To think he’d done the same thing for Sherlock just hours earlier.

“You and Sherlock, huh?” Mycroft retorted, taking a mug. He crossed his legs and practically held the mug at arm’s length.

John wasn’t surprised.

“How’d you tell?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe that connected the kitchen and sitting room. Mycroft smirked and gently pulled at the collar of his own shirt, clearing his throat. John narrowed his eyes and walked over to the mantel. He observed himself in the mirror above it and gaped when he noticed the deep red mark that was blooming along the column of his neck. How’d Sherlock even _do that_? John asked himself this at the same time as Sherlock padded down the stairs, ignoring his brother and coming up behind John. He wrapped his arms around John’s stomach from behind and nuzzled into the side of his neck.

John continued to stare at the mark on his neck in the mirror and watched as Mycroft stood from the sofa, shook his head with a laugh, and walked out of the flat.

Fucking Holmeses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry, i can't tell if i'm just tired as shit or i really am _that bad_ at writing lmao
> 
> anyways, i hope you enjoyed and you can visit me at my tumblr [here](https://221bitchass.tumblr.com/)!


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